


Standstill (The Wheels on the Bus Remix)

by ishafel



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things even House can't cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standstill (The Wheels on the Bus Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shara/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Standstill](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/694) by Shara_i. 



When he's awake he thinks about Wilson, and when he's asleep he dreams about Amber, and the only time he doesn't feel guilty is when he's drunk, and he's drunk more than he should be.

He waits, while Wilson buries Amber. Wilson will forgive him for this. Amber's grave is covered in sunflowers, and House dreams about her naked in a field of them. Pale skin, red gold hair, that satisfied cat's smile, the tits that never quit. He wakes up with his dick in his hand and remembers that she's dead and his best friend hates him.

He watches Wilson, and he isn't particularly subtle about it. He thinks that the worst thing he could do is take Wilson at his word and ignore him. Wilson needs to know that House is still there, even if he isn't ready for more. And House needs to be doing something, even if what he's doing could be classified as stalking under New Jersey state law.

He's never been any good at apologies, and Wilson should know that. Wilson should hear the words he hasn't said, answer the calls he hasn't made, thank him for the flowers he didn't send.

It isn't about Amber, not really; she was just a beautiful, bitchy sideshow. It's always been about House and Wilson, Wilson and House, and this is one more move in the chess game they're not actually playing. This is what House does, is fuck things up, and what Wilson does is sigh and shake his head and look disappointed, and sulk for a little while before he takes House back.

Except, maybe, not this time. House doesn't let himself think that, not very often. They might go on this way forever, strangers who meet in the hallway, and pass each other by without a nod or smile. Wilson was never meant for holding grudges, but House was never meant for having friends.

So he looks, when he gets the chance. He follows Wilson in mirrors and window glass, he reads Wilson's email and plays back his messages. He listens to his fellows talk, to the hospital gossip. The nurses love Wilson. The janitors love him. But they never say the right things. They never say that Wilson misses House. And no matter how much House watches, no matter how often he's looking, he never catches Wilson looking back.

They're strangers now. You can't be friends with a stranger. A stranger is just someone you thought you knew once. House was poised for anger, hatred, catharsis; this cold silence confuses him. In his dreams Amber smiles sadly, and says, "You shouldn't have killed me, then." House watches her on the pole, and thinks that he likes her better now that she's dead.

If only it hadn't been his fault, if only it hadn't cost him Wilson. This is all because of Amber, really, but he can't quite bring himself to hate her. Not when she's dead, not when the sunflowers turn her skin pale gold, and her hair doesn't quite hide her breasts.

He dreams he's fucking her on the bus, while the passengers watch and the driver complains of a headache. He saves people all the time. He saves people he doesn't know, or like, or sometimes mean to save. He might as well have cut Amber's throat when she got on the bus-- he might as well have cut his own throat.

He goes out and gets drunk, and when they throw him out at last call he rides his bike in the rain and doesn't kill anyone. Anyone else. He doesn't drive with his eyes closed, but he can't remember how he got to Wilson's building. How he got inside Wilson's building. Why he wakes up on the carpet outside Wilson's apartment, with Wilson looking down at him.

He can't remember why he isn't on the bus, why he isn't dead. He can't remember, for a minute, that it's Amber who is dead. Maybe he has brain damage, and maybe it's the half bottle of tequila that's making him feel like he's been hit by a truck.

There's something he should say, something he came here to say. House opens his mouth, closes it. For once he can't think of anything. Of course, if he doesn't say something, Wilson's probably not going to help him up. He left his cane on the bus, on his bike, in the bar. He doesn't know anymore.

The usual methods are failing him. Maybe they never worked as well as he thought they did. He tries looking pathetic, which isn't hard as it should be. And Wilson doesn't soften. Wilson just starts to turn away.

"I'm sorry," House says. "James. I'm so sorry." He's surprised to find that he means it. And it almost seems to be enough. Wilson pauses. Turns. Bends to haul House to his feet. And then drops his arm like it's on fire.

"Go away," he says. "House. Just."

House leans on the wall, lets it hold him up. "Okay." It doesn't seem like enough, but what else is there? Wilson's door closes, softly. House staggers slowly down the hall to the elevator, leaving dark, dirty handprints on the white walls.

He isn't giving up. He's just regrouping. He isn't good at this kind of thing, and Wilson should understand. But House thinks of Amber, white-faced in the hospital bed, and Amber on the bus, in a righteous rage, Amber in the bar trying for once to do the right thing, Amber undoing her bra while she dances slowly and House plays the piano.

This isn't a wrecked car, this isn't burned-out apartment or three days in a Tijuana jail or a lost medical license. And House knows that. Being sorry might not be enough, this time. Even saying he's sorry might not be enough this time.

House's chest aches and his hands are shaking as he reaches for the elevator button. He isn't crying, not for himself, not for Wilson, and not for Amber. But that doesn't mean he isn't sorry.


End file.
